Running Away
by Obbeisance
Summary: His life crashed and burned. Everything and everyone he once depended on was gone, so he did what any of us would do. He ran away. Problem is, he never plans to come back. He'll just keep running until he crashes, too. Warnings inside.


Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Okay, so this story is obviously AU from the ending of the seventh book. It does, however, take place after he final battle in seventh year, so just about everything leading up to that is intact, except for the fact that I have added a few character deaths. I may or may not go into detail with that later on. This story will eventually, and I mean_ eventually_, be slash. Don't worry, there is a very minimal chance that there will be multiple slash parings-- I'm not that kind of slash writer. Also, this story is rated M for a reason. It will eventually contain adult themes, but I will warn you when we get there, m'kay?

Anyway, I really hope you enjoy my story, and I do love reviews, so please drop one by!

--

He had only two choices at his disposal, he told himself. He could either die a very painful, gruesome death, or he could come up with ten thousand dollars in the coming month. He didn't even really know how he got into this situation, and he sure as Hell didn't know how to get out of it. Now, resting on the uncomfortable surface of the bus bench, his whole body vibrating with the unsteady and windy vehicle, he tried to weigh his options. The bus, he knew, was heading towards L.A.-- Los Angeles, another American city he knew next to nothing about. What little he did know, though, was actually quite helpful. He knew that Los Angeles was a large and crowded city with both eccentric and run-down areas. He knew that he could easily get a job in a restaurant or get a physical labor job at a construction site. He could probably do some street performing-- he had a decent voice. He would have to do several things, he knew, in order to raise the money. He would also need a place to stay. Maybe a park? He would stay at the bus station for the night, though. He was cold and tired, and he just wanted to sleep.

The bus came to a screeching halt in front of a filty station, and the boy got off, staggering and drunk with exhaustion. Pushing his way through the heavy double doors that encased the station, Harry James Potter threw his small duffel bag, then himself, onto the nearest and cleanest bench he could find. As soon as his head hit the frayed and damaged material of his bag, he fell into a very deep sleep.

--

Harry awoke to the sound of the morning trains blowing their whistles. His neck ached from the uncomfortable angle that it rested on. His eyes were dry and puffy, and his nose had watery snot running freely from it. His body was filled with aches and pains, and he knew without looking that his right leg had swollen beyond belief.

Coughing, Harry sat up slowly, gathering his bag toward him. He opened it and pulled out a very worn sweatshirt, pulling it over his shivering body. He was so cold and hungry. He would have to dumpster dive today. He didn't have a cent to his name.

Standing with a wince, the boy stretched slowly, still coughing occasionally, and made his way into the men's bathroom. It was a filthy affair. Toilet paper and God knew what else littered the floor, and Harry was sure that a toilet had overflowed. He tiptoed his way over to the single sink, quickly washing his face and hands, not stopping to look in the mirror. He already knew that he looked awful, and he didn't really want to look his glasses at all. Taped together in three places and cracked in tens of spots, they completed his homeless attire, not that his tattered jeans, shoes, shirts, and hair needed any help.

Harry walked slowly out of the station, head down. He didn't really know where to start. He could apply at a restaurant, but he looked like a homeless person, which he was. He would never be hired like this. He figured that singing should come first. He needed money for some clothes to get a better job. He started out walking west, looking for a park or plaza. He didn't run into too many problems on the way, as he stuck to the side walk, always keeping his head down. It was sunny out, and some of the chill that had kept him shivering the previous night had left him. His aches began to fade, and the snot in his nose dried. He stopped at water fountains several times along the way, and although he was still starving, he felt remarkably better.

About a mile down the road Harry found a park, a historical park. Although he didn't blend in too well with the other Hispanic performers, he still immediately set up. He took a cup out of his duffel bag and placed it in front of him. He knew three or four Spanish songs-- he had done his work before. He fixed his hair as much as possible and stood beneath the prettiest and most vibrant tree could find. He warmed up for a few minutes, and began to sing-- loud and clear. It was nine o'clock when he started singing. It was nearing eight when he finished. At first, since it was so early, he got very small tips, but as the day dragged on, he received a lot of attention for his singing. He made one hundred and three dollars by the day's end. The park manager and the restaurant owners surrounding the park invited him back to sing tomorrow. The little English boy that spoke perfect Spanish and sang like an angel, even if he certainly didn't dress like one, attracted a lot of attention and money. One shop owner, Ricky, invited Harry inside for a free dinner. He hadn't seen the boy eat all day. Not take one break. It was shocking that his vocal chords hadn't broken.

Harry accepted the meal and stepped inside the restaurant that was just now slowing down from a long day of feeding hungry tourists. The smell of fresh Mexican food inside the restaurant made Harry's mouth salivate. "Thanks very much for inviting me, Mr. Ricardo. I really appreciate it."

Motioning for Harry to sit down at an isolated booth in the back of the restaurant, Ricky smiled. "It's no trouble at all, Harry. I loved hearing your singing today. You have a beautiful voice." Harry blushed. "No, really, Harry. Anyway, what can I get for you? Anything at all. My treat."

Smiling back, Harry said, "Alright. Could I have a few hard shell tacos and a tall lemonade?"

Ricky nodded. "Sure. John!," He yelled across the room to a waiter. "Give me ten hard shell tacos, a large lemonade, and a Heineken." The waiter nodded and scuttled into the kitchen.

Ricky turned back to Harry. "You don't mind if I join you? My roommates are visiting their dad, and I really don't want to eat alone tonight."

Harry shook his head. "I'd love you to."

Ricky smiled. "So, Harry, what brings you to L.A.?"

"I'm not sure, exactly. Someone just put me on a bus-- a... business associate of mine. I was living in San Francisco for awhile, but I guess he thought I would do better, here."

Ricky frowned. What was this boy talking about? "A business associate? I don't understand."

Their drinks came. Harry took a sip of his lemonade. "Well, not really. I wasn't going to get full citizenship-- they were going to send me back to Britain. My case was under revision, and I was having a small mental breakdown in the office. That's when he found me and saw what I was wearing-- fairly nice clothes, I suppose, the only ones I own. He also saw my rings and jewelery and assumed I was rich. So, he offered to fix my case for me in exchange for all the money I had in my pocket. I suppose he wasn't worried about getting caught."

Ricky interrupted him. "You're illegal?"

"No. He did fix it, but then he found out what I had in my pocket, nothing. He thought I had scammed him, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had already buried my case. So he took my jewelery, and he's giving me a month to raise the ten thousand dollars that he feels I owe him for "scamming" him." Harry shook his head.

Their food came but Rick didn't yet touch it. He was too surprised about the amazing revelation that young Harry had given him. They had just met, but apparently either Harry didn't find him to be a threat, or he trusted him. Or Harry was just too tired to care. Whatever the case, in Ricky's silence, Harry polished off six tacos and his entire lemonade. Ricky just nibbled at the edge of one. He wasn't really hungry anymore.

"How old are you, Harry?" Ricky asked, finally, after Harry finished eating.

"Eighteen." Barely legal.

"Where are your parents?"

"Dead."

"Relatives?"

"Dead."

"Friends?"

"Dead."

"Need a place to stay tonight?"

"You offering?"

"If you tell some more stories."

"If you give me a job at your restaurant."

"You got a deal."

--

Ricky found living with Harry to be incredibly enjoyable. His roommates, who came home a couple days after Harry moved in, also learned to love the little English boy with too many problems and too many bad memories. Harry shared a room with Ricardo, and Larry and Ronnie, being brothers, also shared a room. They all shared the same common area, but even in their very small apartment, there was more than enough room for all four men.

Harry sang every day from ten to four, and then either waited or provided entertainment in the form on his lovely voice every night from five to ten. Business boomed. On weekends and slower days Harry sang at other local parks and, with a new suit from Ricky-- his treat, he performed at several benefits. Everyone who heard him loved his voice, and three weeks into his allotted month, Harry had already raised all the money that he would need to pay off his "business associate".

Ricky helped him send the money to the P.O. box given, and a note claiming that the villain had a nice time "working" with Harry arrived several days later. Ricky had fought him tooth and nail, telling Harry not to send the money, but, claiming that his business associate had "connections," Harry had ultimately won the argument.

Harry hadn't paid for rent or food while he was paying off his debt, and it stayed that way after it was gone. Ricky couldn't believe the horrors of Harry Potter's life. His parents died when he was a baby. He was abused as a child by relatives, who later died alongside his friends and other family in a horrible fire. He came to the States for a fresh start, and then that whole thing with his citizenship happened... poor thing. Ricky knew that if he'd gone though all that, he'd be a royal brat, but Harry brought nothing but light to his life. He was sweet, smart, and hard-working. Ricky practically adopted the tiny boy. He made sure he was well-fed and was clothed finely. He even looked into sending Harry back to school. He'd never been happier, and, honestly, "Uncle" Ronnie and "Uncle" Larry hadn't so content in a very long time, either. Harry improved their lives so drastically that they couldn't imagine life without him.

That was why it was so painful when he disappeared.


End file.
